


Don't Come Looking for Love

by JasnNCarly



Series: Jon Moxley (Dean Ambrose) & You [16]
Category: Professional Wrestling, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Tumblr, greygirlmoxley, wwe imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-19 08:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19353232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasnNCarly/pseuds/JasnNCarly
Summary: You can’t give what you don’t have.





	Don't Come Looking for Love

“Is this all you want from me, (Y/N)?”

The question isn’t fair, and it just fuels your need to escape – especially as he sits in bed with only a sheet covering anything below his waist. You clasp your bra, eyeballing the room in search of your shirt, “We’re not doing this right now.”

“We should talk about this.”                                

He looks uncomfortable though he’s the one who brought it up; you know where it’s coming from. Renee and Dean had called their relationship quits months ago; you two waited to start playing hotel room tag. But Renee had been at the Hall of Fame event, and Dean was confronted by the past pretty bluntly. Now, you were paying for it.

“Dean, you know I like being around you…not just like this.” You hope this will pacify him; you already feel like an ass for leaving so suddenly. This conversation is not helping.

“Just stop what you’re doing for a second. Come back to bed.”

You blow out a breath, only missing your jeans, and grow increasingly frustrated until you glance up to see his disappointment. It’s like you are leaving him in need, though you were sure you had taken care of that. Unable to resist him, mentally telling everything below your chin to calm down, you crawl onto the bed and work your way to a seat straddling his thighs, “Okay, I’m listening.”

“I know what you think is happening.”

“I know what we’ve talked about.” You beg him to stop, but your telepathic powers seem to be off tonight. You wanted to slap him and tell him that you were keeping your end of the deal. You had fully enjoyed the time he gave you, and you were working to disconnect it from everything else. He was the one crossing the line, asking you what you were doing and covering you in uncertainty. He should have been the one thing you didn’t have to worry about.

“This isn’t about  _any_  past relationship.”

Bullshit. You’re tempted to pounce him, tire him out since the first time didn’t work and leave the room while he was passed out…as soon as you found you’re damn jeans. You decide against it, rubbing your hands along your thighs, “It’s not?”

“(Y/N), I don’t do this shit because I don’t have options.” Fuck his confidence as he used one hand to cup your chin and lift your focus, “I do this because I want to be with you.”

It was no secret that his statements were true for you too. For some reason, unmarried divas were always a welcome commodity on the roster. You had choices, but no one looked better in blue jeans and a leather jacket than Dean. Not to mention that face, the one that had the ability to give you a one track mind and answer your body’s call for him like you had done with no one else. Encouraged by his dimpled smile as he waited for your response, you reach out to touch his lips – wondering if it’s possible to communicate without another word. You want to tell him that no one would be able to resist him, nothing about him was undesirable, but you’re struck dumb. Your tongue was numb with fear, and you could not bring yourself to say a word.

You attempt to leave him, swinging your leg, but he grabs your legs before you can step onto the floor; forcing you to lie flat on your back, he covers your body with his, takes your face in his hands to revive you – massaging your tongue without an invitation or protest.

You surrender, completely willing to let him tell you everything with his movements, and begin to grind against him, feeling that his member is already ready to communicate.

Dean stops, pinning you beneath him, “Could you ever love me?”

You feel like you need oxygen, breathless at his question and immediately quaking with doubt, “I don’t know if I could love anyone.” You hate yourself for the answer, but you pray he will respect your honesty, “I fuck it up, Dean. Every. Time.”

He does not look angry or doubtful anymore; instead, it looks like he completely understands. Damn, it seems like he might even relate.

You shut your eyes, too ashamed to stare, and feel the tears trickle along the apples of your cheeks, “Everything up to this point has been bad…so bad. I’m pretty sure I lost that ability a long time ago, and I’m sorry…” You snatch your wrists from beneath his hands, covering your face in an attempt to gain some control, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Removing your palms from your face, you feel his lips meeting your damp cheeks, taking time to catch up to every tear. The tenderness destroys you and the mood that had been alive not seconds ago; it’s all too much. Instead of embracing him with your entire body, your arms circle his neck and draw him close. It’s foreign to both of you when it isn’t for an elevation purpose, but it doesn’t feel totally wrong either.

Dean rolls over, your embrace on him still intact as you lie against him, and his arms move to circle your waist. It’s nothing but pure warmth there, the heat of sunbathing. He waits for you to calm down before he moves his lips to your ear, vowing, “I’m gonna take care of you.” His words make your shiver, but you keep your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, “You’ll want all of me eventually,” You finally pulled back a little, frowning down at him as he ran the back of his hand along your cheeks, “You’ll love me one day.”

He had no idea; but his easiness with you – the way he acted as your safety net – had already made damn sure that would happen.


End file.
